


make your move

by tgrsndshrks



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Come Eating, M/M, Rimming, Switching, maybe humiliation if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgrsndshrks/pseuds/tgrsndshrks
Summary: “What? You don't handcuff him too?” Brian asks. “He's into that shit. He's weird like you.” John furrows his brows, looks over at Tim, who's looking awfully uncomfortable. “Oh shit. Did you not know?”or, john finds out tim likes bottoming sometimes. john gives him the next best thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> blame julien for this entirely
> 
> he made me do this
> 
> title from the you me at six song
> 
> EDIT: holy shit julien drew a thing based on this fic and i'm love him. link in the end notes to avoid spoilers.

John doesn't know his wrists are bruised until Brian points it out.

“What's up with your arm?” Brian asks during soundcheck, while John's toying with his pedal board. John stops, looks.

“What?” he asks. John's twisting his arm around, looking for something abnormal. Brian grabs John's forearm, turns it over.

“Is that a bruise around your wrist?” Brian asks. John looks, and sure enough, theres blue and purple discoloring his tattoos. He knows what it's from in an instant, but he has absolutely no intention of telling Brian this information.

“That's weird,” John says, feigning innocence. Brian grabs the other arm, which bears a mirrored ring of bruising.

“Holy shit,” Brian says. “Are these from handcuffs?”

“I,” John starts to say, but Brian's already looking over at Tim, who's just showed up, late from a cigarette break.

“Tim,” Brian says, “you gotta take better care of my guitarist.”

“What are you talking about?” Tim asks, pushing his hair back as he's walking over. John catches a whiff of smoke off him. Brian holds John's arms out at him.

“Handcuff bruises,” Brian says. Tim looks. “I get it if you're into some kinky shit, but no breaking wrists. He needs those.”

“Shit,” Tim says. He takes John's hand, turns his arm over.

“He totally should be allowed to get you back for that,” Brian remarks. 

“I don't really, uh,” John immediately starts to say, but then realizes it's probably more than Brian wants to know, really. “It's okay. I don't mind.”

“What? You don't handcuff him too?” Brian asks. “He's into that shit. He's weird like you.” John furrows his brows, looks over at Tim, who's looking awfully uncomfortable. “Oh shit. Did you not know?”

“You switch?” John asks Tim, and Tim just stutters a little and shrugs.

“I mean sometimes, yeah, it's-”

“He wrote a whole fucking song about it, dude,” Brian says. John stares at him. “Jeez. Did I just cause an entire relationship crisis?”

“No,” John says. “No, it's fine. Just. Never knew that.”

“Can we not talk about this with the entire crew here?” Tim asks, shooting Brian a look. “It's fuckin' weird.”

“I'm more shocked John's never listened to his own boyfriend’s record,” Brian says. “Must be too busy listening to all that Buck Owens, Jerry Reed type shit.” John huffs at him.

“First of all country music isn't even as bad as you make it sound,” John says.

“Debatable,” Tim interjects. John glares at him.

“I'm leaving before I cause any more relationship problems,” Brian says. “Which reminds me, I should really call Dita soon. Sorry about your weird sex bruises.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. He goes off to get his bass, and John doesn't say anything.

//

By the time they even have a chance to catch up with each other, they're tucked in a corner side stage, waiting for the show to start. The PA is still playing and the lights are still on, but they're both wired up and ready to go on. John pulls Tim over, gestures for him to take his monitor out.

“I'm sorry I gave myself handcuff bruises when you cuffed me to the toilet last weekend and that Brian noticed them and made things weird,” John says. He's practiced the sentence in his head for the past twenty minutes.

“What?” Tim yells, and then, “Oh, right. It's fine.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” John asks. Tim looks out at the stage, and the lights go off.

“Now is kind of a bad time,” Tim says.

“Yeah,” John says.

“Break a leg, yeah?” Tim says. He nudges John, gives his wrist a squeeze. John's bruise aches in the sweetest way.

“Same,” John says. He smiles, but he isn't sure Tim sees it in the dark. Thaeter is playing over the PA. Their cue. John plugs in and walks onstage.

//

The topic doesn't come up again till that night, after they've showered and gotten into their hotel bed without bothering to put any clothes back on. _House of 1000 Corpses_ is playing on the TV.

John's got his head on Tim's shoulder, comfortable, Tim's hand low on his back. John's been stuck thinking about it all day, or since soundcheck. Tim submitting. Maybe that he could imagine, but bottoming? That was a whole other thing. John doubts he has it in him to give Tim that, but. Perhaps there was something he could do if Tim liked all that.

“What was that song Brian mentioned earlier?” John asks. “During soundcheck.” He feels Tim look down at the top of his head.

“Uh,” Tim says, John feeling him tense a little, “it's from the solo project I did. I wrote this song called Anything. It's not a big deal.”

“But it's about bottoming,” John says. He looks up. Tim's face flushes.

“Well, subbing,” he says, “but yeah.” Tim looks back at the television, clearly ready to be done with the topic.

“Why didn't you tell me you like switching, though?” John asks. The same question as before, except now Tim can't dodge it so easily. Tim shifts a little underneath him.

“I just, uh,” Tim says, brows furrowed, “didn't think it was important, since you don't like giving penetration. Thought you might feel bad. Feel like it was something you couldn't give me. That's all.” John's chest hurts a little. Tim was keeping it to himself to spare John's feelings.

“Babe.” Tim glances back down at John. “I don't _have_ to use my dick. I have two hands and a mouth.” Tim blinks, averts his gaze.

“I mean it's not a big deal,” he says. “It's not like, my favorite thing and I probably couldn't cum from it anyway even if I did like prostate orgasms but yeah no. No big deal. It's been ages, anyway.” John narrows his eyes at him.

“But I'd do it,” John says. “If you wanted.” Tim sighs.

“I know,” he says. He lowers his head down, kisses John's forehead. “That's the important part.” John smiles, shifts up, presses their lips together.

“Love you,” John says into Tim's mouth. Tim winds his fingers in John's hair.

“Love you too,” he says, and kisses him again. He slots their mouths together and John brings his hands up, pulling Tim in closer. Tim's whole body is hot, white skin flushed pink, and when John goes to slot their legs together, Tim's half hard. John's mouth falls open.

“Oh,” he says. Tim's teeth dig into his lip. “Do you want me to...?”

“If you want,” Tim says. “If you don't want to it's okay; you don't have to-”

“I want to,” John says. He's quiet for a moment, gathers himself. It can't be that difficult to be a little dominant, right? All he has to do is what Tim does to him. Even if he has to pretend, he can do it for Tim, maybe just once. Tim seems to hesitate a little. He doesn't say anything, doesn't nod, but he does push the blankets back, so John takes that as consent. John shifts over on top of Tim, mouths at his neck. “You want my fingers?”

“John,” Tim says, whining.

“C'mon,” John says. “Tell me.”

“I,” Tim says, but he can't seem to force the words out. John slides his hand down between them, slipping between Tim's thighs, fingers gripping at the soft skin. Tim lets out a shaky breath.

“I really want to hear you say it is all,” John says. He's purposely avoiding Tim's cock, even though he can feel it hard against him. “It's okay. It's just me.”

“I can't,” Tim says, cheeks red, teeth biting his lips together. John pulls Tim's leg up, spreading them enough to get his hand between them, under him. His fingers slide over Tim's entrance. “Fuck,” Tim gasps.

“Do you want my mouth first?” John asks, voice low. He never talks like this – it's normally Tim asking the questions, pushing John to make himself blush.

“Jesus Christ, John,” Tim says. He actually squirms.

“Answer me, babe,” John presses. He figures maybe Tim is having a hard time answering because John keeps looking at him, watching for his reactions, so he ducks his head back down to Tim's shoulder, mouths kisses at the spot where it curves up into his neck.

“Okay, okay,” Tim says, and John can feel his throat tighten under his lips. “I want your mouth. _Please_.” John hums a pleased response and shoves the blankets the rest of the way off.

“I can do that,” John says. He climbs down Tim's body, leaving kisses as he goes, breath ghosting over Tim's cock enough to make it jump. John grins, lifts Tim's legs up, folds him in half over himself. Tim's face is still flushed, but John doesn't mention it. Just trails a few bites down the inside of Tim's thigh, then gives him a flat, long lave of his tongue.

“Fuck,” Tim grits out, hand reflexively grabbing at John's hair. John gasps, purrs at the sting, all too happy to have that bit of familiarity. John licks again, starts working his tongue into him, only touching Tim's cock to hold it back out of the way. He can feel it stiffen, get impossibly harder as John mouths at him. “Fuck. Holy shit, John.”

“S'good?” John asks, lips still brushing against Tim's skin.

“Keep-” Tim chokes out, head falling back into the pillows, visibly frustrated with himself. “Just. Keep doing that.” John does. He can feel Tim's ass starting to give, letting him in a little deeper, feeling Tim pull his head in closer. John just holds onto Tim's hips, holds him to his mouth, tongue working, laving over him. He can't help the swell of pride in his chest when Tim tries to stifle a moan into his elbow, free arm thrown over his face.

“Let me hear you,” John says, between filthy open-mouthed kisses.

“Fuck's sake, John,” Tim says roughly, sounding more frustrated than anything. “I'm not _used_ to this.”

“Neither am I,” John remarks. He brings a hand up, thumbing at him, trying to pull him open further.

“I-” Tim gasps, but John's already licking into him again. He hears Tim swear again in some other language, but doesn't stop. John works his tongue, feeling Tim try to arch off the bed. “Fuck. Fuck. Please. John.” His words are quick and needy, voice thin, like he's - “Close, fuck, stop-”

John lifts his head, pushes his hair back out of his face. If there was ever a time he wanted to fuck somebody, it'd be Tim right now. His whole body's flushed pink, a sheen of sweat covering it, his lips wet and bitten red.

“Holy shit,” John says, because a sight like this is worthy of swearing.

“There's lube in my bag,” Tim says, and John figures since he's giving he's in charge of it this time. He crawls off the bed and rifles through Tim's bag, letting him catch his breath. When John looks back at him, Tim's not even touching himself, just laying there panting, knees still up and spread. John climbs up between them, grabbing a pillow to shove up under Tim's hips to make things a little easier. He fumbles with the lube a little, trying to warm it on his fingers, but not spill it on the sheets. They do have to sleep in this bed after all.

“How many?” John asks. He notices a smear of precum on Tim's stomach.

“Just – start with one,” Tim says, voice stiff, and John just nods, slicking Tim over with his hand. Truth be told, John's only ever done this to himself, and it's a little daunting, but somehow it being Tim makes it easier. John presses with his finger and Tim's body gives. His mouth falls open as John sinks in, one knuckle, two, all the way down. John looks down at his hand, the digit disappearing into Tim, and holy shit. He waits a moment, lets Tim adjust, before he starts moving. He works the finger into him, gently, all wet heat and the sound of Tim's breath catching in his throat.

“Tell me when you want another,” John says, voice soft, shifting to lean over Tim a bit.

“More,” Tim grits out.

“More?” John asks, because, _already?_

“Please,” Tim gasps. John can't do anything but oblige him. There's a little more resistance with the second finger as Tim stretches, but he's fucking tight around John's fingers, his whole body trying to push into the contact for more. John works him open, curls his fingers, searching. “Oh god,” Tim whines, covering his eyes with his hands, cock jerking, hips rolling up at nothing. “It's – you're almost there. Little further down. Just.” John lets Tim direct him, and when John finally feels it, Tim finally moans in earnest. It's probably the greatest thing John's ever heard. Tim's face immediately goes hot red, and he turns his head into the pillow, trying to hide from him. “Oh shit.”

“God, you're fucking tight,” John says quietly, working him open, working him undone. Tim grabs at John's arm and John comes down onto his elbow, fucking his fingers into Tim as he starts kissing salt from his collarbones and his chest, scraping teeth over skin.

“Been ages,” Tim chokes out, arching into the touch. John's mouth finds the pierced nipple, bites the jewelry, pulls. “Ah!” Tim grabs at John's hair, tries to pull him up closer. “Still need more. Please.” John doesn't say anything, just lets Tim hold his face an inch from his nose, presses in a third finger. Tim's mouth falls open, a silent moan.

“You're taking it so good,” John purrs. Tim falls back into the pillows as John's fingers move, slick and wet. “I wanna feel you come apart on my hand.” Tim shudders at John's words.

“Do it,” Tim breathes, hips rolling desperately against John's hand. “Fucking close. Don't touch me.”

“You want to cum untouched?” John asks. And here, he'd just told him the opposite. Tim curses.

“I'm gonna,” he keens, and John works him harder, fingers deliberate and quick, Tim's whole body seeming to freeze. He gives a sudden, sweet little cry, and cums, tight around John's fingers as his cock spills untouched, streaks on flushed skin. John just works him through it, letting Tim ride it out on his hand, his legs shaking against John. Once Tim's grabbing at John's hand, wanting his fingers out, too sensitive, John slicks the extra lube from his hand on his own cock and brings himself off quickly, all the while Tim holding his face, even as he adds to the mess on Tim's stomach.

Tim's quiet, just gasping for breath. John figures Tim doesn't feel like talking, so he kisses down Tim's body once more, mouthing at the skin and cleaning up the mess, slow and deliberate. Tim's languid, every muscle melting into the bed. John just lays back onto his shoulder, burying his face in his neck.

“I definitely like doing that,” John says. “No need to be shy about it.” Tim doesn't say anything; his face is still red, a flash of hot shame in his eyes. “We don't have to talk about it,” John says, and Tim spares him a glance.

“Later,” he says. “And don't tell Brian.”

“I'm not gonna tell Brian,” John says, and he kisses Tim once again.

**Author's Note:**

> [here's julien's drawing based on the fic!!!!](http://nailingtrent.tumblr.com/post/159007775947/more-so-skold-wrote-this-masterpiece-and-i) i love it so much he is so good to me look at poor tim's face let him live


End file.
